


Promises

by wench_fics (WeasleyWench)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Complete, Gift!Fic, Hand Fetish, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 01:56:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeasleyWench/pseuds/wench_fics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur wants Eames to keep a certain promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pushdragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushdragon/gifts).



> Never written any Inception, but Push asked for Eames's hands. :) Happy New Year, dear. :) Thank you for being an inspiration.

**Promises**

“You promised,” Arthur said without any inflection. Eames took his emotions, if he dared show them, and turned them into something else as twisted as Arthur’s mazes.

“I know, darling. Finish the mission. Three days, after we finish.”

Arthur looked at Eames’s hands for a long time. Large palms to cover all of him in time. Blunted fingertips and carefully maintained fingernails for easy play – anal or otherwise. Arthur would suck his fingers if they were a direct line to Eames’s cock. Maybe they were; he would try it when the mission was over. First they had to make it through the war-zone that was this mark’s mind. 

Arthur pulled his glock and fired. The slider clicked, the clip empty. Arthur moved his index finger to the outside of the trigger, already reaching for the mag in his pocket. He released the old one; it dropped with a loud clatter on the marble flooring. He yanked the second clip from his pocket and inserted into the empty shaft, with the flash of a thought he had to shove aside to concentrate on the job. The militarised projections fell like sacks of candied yams, squishing and leaking as they hit the ground. Red seeped onto the floor from the five ... men ... his bullets killed.

Arthur shook his head. These extractions were becoming more dangerous. The higher risks always gave them more money, but Arthur had plenty after they’d completed the Inception for Saito. The only one out was Cobb. Arthur followed Eames, or they found each other. This job was no different. Even Ariadne was a member of their usual team. Arthur wished she’d been the architect this time.

Arthur didn’t care about her. He just wanted Eames. They’d go down one more level and once the extraction was complete, Eames would have to follow through. It was a Mal and Cobb worthy promise to take a bolthole once they finished the job. As long as by the end of it, Eames made up for the extended absence of time alone with his hands all over Arthur’s body – wet, dry, calloused, fingernails digging into his back. Eames owed him.

***

Arthur arched and sucked harder on Eames’s fingers. He ran is tongue around them like they were Eames’s cock. They tasted of musk – that scent that came after scratching his balls or taking a leak. But it was the most arousing thing Arthur had ever inhaled and tasted. He bit down on the pads of each finger within range. It was perfect. He moaned, happy to feel the softer bits of skin along with the rough, less refined bits. Like the bastard he could be, Eames withdrew his hand – the hand Arthur wanted enough that he whimpered and inhaled; his breath stuttered. Eames knew what he was doing. Always.

Eames rested, cock buried deep in Arthur, moving his saliva-slick fingers across Arthur’s lips, his cheek. First his forefinger across his chin, wetness spreading and weakening. Arthur needed Eames’s hands – around his neck, if the mood struck... yanking his hair - _fuck, I want that_. Anywhere.

The thrusts started again.

“Grab my cock,” Arthur panted, throat dry and body aching with the sweet ache of arousal. 

“Patience, darling. In time.”

“Fuck you, Eames. Do it. I want to taste myself on your hand. You promised.” 

Eames thrust hard, and took hold of Arthur’s cock, finally. His strokes remained steady, slow, deliberate. They watched each other. Arthur panted, watching the ripple of muscle and tattoos that seemed to be alive. Dreams. Fucking dreams.

A deep groan came from Eames, and Arthur froze. All the anticipation, the planning, making time between jobs, and the hand clamped around his thigh forced him to come. He grunted, grinding into Eames more, as pleasure flooded through him, hot and so fast he lost the ability to think.

Limp, he rocked with Eames, and felt wet, hot fluid against his lips, pressing down. Oh, god, his hand... Arthur licked his come from Eames’s fingers, his palm, following the lines that palm readers relished. The sounds from Eames only made it better. It was like he got off on the licking and sucking as much as Arthur did for having complete access to Eames’s hands – their strength and power, even when they were gentle. 

Arthur lost track of Eames’s movements. He knew Eames was ready to come when he leaned down and kissed him, sharing the flavour. His mouth was demanding, but Arthur gave as much as he could. He raked his nails down Eames’s back, grabbing hold of his buttocks to get him deeper. He was close. The sounds, the stiff, jerky movements. Arthur squeezed and—

Eames came, his breath hot against Arthur’s cheek. Their skin was sticky, sweat and come. 

“I keep my promises,” Eames said after he’d pulled out and lay next to Arthur. 

“I know,” Arthur reassured him, still panting slightly. “Hey, why do we always do this in dreams?”

Eames was silent for a moment. “Your subconscious doesn’t lie; it can’t.”

Arthur frowned. Eames had never shown a romantic side before. 

“Promise me something.”

“What’s that?” Eames turned and looked at him.

“We’ll do this for real next time. My mind gets too worked up and I never last very long.”

“Perhaps.”

“Are you afraid of something?”

“No. Are you?”

“No.”

They looked at each other.

“Alright, I promise. But you won’t do any better once I get my hands on you in the real world. I’ll prove it as soon as the kick comes.”

Arthur looked at Eames. “Promise?”

“Promise, darling.”


End file.
